Dear Mom,

I haven't told anyone this. I don't even want to tell you because... because... I'm scared, okay? I don't even like writing this down, but I'm afraid I have to or else I'm going to go crazy, but even if I told myself I will tell you, I'm not sure I can tell you in one go, partly because, well... you know, and partly because I really really think I'm crazy.

Mom, I'm... I hear voices in my head and something tells me I'm just as sane as I was before because they don't sound like hallucinations. They don't sound like things my mind made up. The voices are like... like they come from the people in front of me. Like I'm reading their minds.

Crazy, I know. Mind readers are supposed to be tricks performed by magicians to fool people into paying them, but you see, this isn't a trick and no one's paying me to invade anyone's privacy. I probably should start at the top, right? Well, here goes nothing.

It was two months after you... after you left. Will had hired a new maid---as if we didn't have enough already. Her name was Marcelly, Celly for short. She was nice and obedient more than the others at first, which made me suspect her of doing something mischievous (no one's that innocent-like). Charming too, probably why Will hired her in the first place, which made me suspect her even more. I was right to suspect her, of course; she turned out to be a thief.

A few months after her first arrival, things began to get lost. It started with things that I wouldn't miss; an old cellphone, some jeans, two pairs of shoes, a wallet that contained a few gold coins, and a bag I never used. It was obviously her, no matter how sneaky she could be. Of course, no one would believe me. Why would anyone believe little old me who lied to everyone that I saw someone poisoning the birthday cake of our fat spoiled neighbor, ending in the cancellation of the whole party? Or innocent little me who set fire to that ugly daisy patch Will planted in your sunflower garden, blaming it on one of his maids?

But this one was not a lie. It was not something I did because I was bored. It was the whole truth and nothing but. And the worst part of it all was that I didn't have any proof except for Marcelly's screams in her head. God, she was so guilty I was an inch away from pitying her. When I was about to, though, she suddenly started laughing maniacally, proud of her cunningness (which she had not one bit). That's when I wanted to get her more than ever.

A few months, and a few more items lost in my room later, though, I soon gave up. I don't need those things and no one would believe me, anyway, so why make a fuss right? Especially when Will hasn't the time, like when he didn't have time for anything, right?


When I stopped caring about Marcelly's petty thefts, her voice finally died down in my head. I felt sane again. I was back to the life of a liar, which was fun in a weird way.

I noticed that that thief didn't grow out of taking those random things lying around my room, and didn't bother me one bit. It was like having a personal garbage picker who got rid of the things I really didn't want or the things Will gave me that I wanted to throw away but couldn't cause he'd be throwing a fit, and you know very well about his famous fits (you spent half of your life with the guy, for crying out loud!).

But then things got out of hand. Somehow, Marcelly found her way into my secret room and got past my security system (that I bought myself) and stole something so precious to me that I had to buy my own security system just so Will would hear nothing about it; your diamond necklace.


How did she even find my secret room? I especially hired the best carpenter in the city to bolt that bookcase to the door! And my security system! I spend every morning changing its password and locks. How could she even disconnect all the cameras without getting caught by a single one? And boy, does she clean up good. There were no prints on anything. There was not a single trace of movement in that room, except perhaps the cameras that were annoyingly disconnected. Even the glass case of the necklace was right how I left it; squeaky clean.

That was the last straw.

Now don't go and start telling me to tell Will, cause believe me, like no one ever did, I did. And, surprise, surprise, he didn't even care! Actually, the right words would be: he cared more about Marcelly than me. He told me that Marcelly would never do anything like that. He told me that Marcelly was an amazing maid and that I should be more like her. All this in written word given to me by Marcelly.

As everyone knows---or should know--- that receiving such an obnoxious reply through written word, is far worse than receiving it through word of mouth. So, in order for me not to read it again and again while plotting my scheme, I burnt it in the fireplace immediately after reading the words “I don't have time for this” so I could plot my scheme in peace.

I wouldn't go into all the details, and it might be too difficult to digest, so let's just say I may or may not have made a trip wire just right behind my bedroom door and I may or may not have hired a professional to fix that trip wire so that when someone trips on it, that person may or may not catch on fire. All of those are merely possibilities that, of course, worked out in the end.

I couldn't explain to Will how she got burns all over her arms, but I was, however, able to make her confess. And the rest fell into place. I got your necklace back and told her to keep all the trash she's been stealing from me (see, Mom? I'm not that bad). She got fired and I was happy.

Unfortunately, that was the start of everything. All these weird voices keep popping in my head. I always sorta knew when someone was lying or when someone was guilty of something. I always knew the secrets of those in front of me. And I found out that no matter how giddy and joyful someone could be, there was some sort of emotional baggage weighing them down. That was the worst part, dealing with someone else's pain when I've got enough already, I mean.

That's why I'm so dead scared, Mom. I don't know what to do! Everyone's faces are in my head. Everyone's pain is stinging me. And I can't do not a thing about it! Everyone seems to be able to freely connect to my head and pour their sadness in me! What am I, a baggage counter?

And another thing, I. Can't. Seem. To. Get. In. Will's. Head.

I really don't know what to do, Mom. If you could just come back...? I know, I know. You can't, and never will be able to, but Mom, no one will help me. Not one of the maids, not one of the butlers, I have no friends, thanks to homeschooling, not that I want to give up on it, and Will? Will never did anything for me. Will never let me see him right after you were gone. He didn't say a word to me. He didn't try to comfort me. He sent me nothing but letters when I know he was just in the other room. He sent me nothing but useless presents that did nothing but make me hate him more.

I can't take this anymore.

Goodbye, Mom. I'll end the letter here.


Elize shakily dropped her fountain pen on her mahogany desk. She couldn't control her hand anymore. It had started shaking right before the tip of her pen touched the paper, and now all she can write are squiggles. She cried a single tear and sighed. All she wrote was the truth, and as she said, nothing but. After hundreds of drafts, she was finally able to write a simple, precise narration of what led her to this again; staring coldly at the blade sheathed in blue plastic at the top right corner of her huge desk.

So the question is: what now?

Right before she could make a decision, something in the back of her head started screaming. She clasped her ears and prayed it would stop before it would come any closer. Get me out of here, it said. Please take me away from here.

“No more... Please, just shut up,” she mumbled.

The scream got louder. Then a sob. What on earth...?

Let me out of this place. I want to be able to fly...

Something struck Elize's chest. Not literally, of course. There's this certain hollowness and emptiness in her chest that somehow always found its way there, even when she was unfeeling. She gripped the collar of her gray shirt and bit her lip. Sometimes, when she was emotionally stable, she was able to stop the pain and the screams by concentrating real hard. She was not emotionally stable.


A light knock came from outside her bedroom door. She didn't answer. Rather, she couldn't. The halls of the Winters' mansion always had one or two maids/butlers roaming around trying to get from one place to another, and most of them had the most depressing thoughts. Sometimes it kept Elize awake at night. Sometimes it kept her trembling. Most of the time it just drove her mad.


“Mistress Elize?” A soft whisper called out from the door. Elize looked up from her desk and found the source of the screaming. It was one of those girls her father hired a few years ago that had the most forgettable names. Lucy? Lara? Lemon? Who could remember? But what Elize remembered was that this girl always dreamt of being free. Of being able to get rid of the Winters Mansion forever. “Mistress, your professor is here...” she retreated when she saw the coldness in Elize's eyes.

“Send him away,” she demanded, looking away.

“But Mistress...”

“SEND HIM AWAY!” She smashed her fists on her desk. “I don't want to see him now.”

“Wha...what shall I say to him?”

“TELL HIM WHAT I JUST TOLD YOU,” she screamed, not really sure why, but she was certain she heard the maid call her a spoiled brat.

“B...but yo...you're father told me to make sure you...”

“I DON'T GIVE A DOLPHIN'S TAIL WHAT HE TOLD YOU,” she stood up so abruptly, her chair tipped over.

Whats-her-face maid took a step back, shielding herself from behind Elize's door. But what will I tell your father, the maid thought.

“Tell him your silly little thoughts, you idiot dreamer! Tell him you want to be free and, for the love of everything that's pure, STOP GIVING ME YOUR STUPID BAGGAGE,” she stomped her way to the doorway and grabbed hold of the wooden door. She opened it a few inches just enough to see the face of that trembling maid. From her face, she looked a little... depressed and distraught. There were bags under her eyes. Her light brown hair was out of its bun. There were wrinkles on her forehead, as if she hasn't been able to rest for a while.

“you... loathsome dreamer, you,” she sighed. “Go on, tell him I can't see him now. I'm not feeling so good.” Without a second thought, she lightly closed the door.

“Would you like something to drink, Mistress...?” she asked, still sounding shaken, her faint voice was barely audible from behind the thin wall that separated them.

“Some mushroom soup would be nice,” Elize mumbled. The maid replied with a not so joyful tone.

Elize crumpled on the floor, hearing the last of the maid's thoughts. What was that freak talking about? She must be some creep who invades someone's privacy. But, dear god, was she scary... It must run in the family. Oh right, he's gonna have my head for dinner tonight thanks to that ungrateful spoiled brat.

After the slowest 30 seconds have passed, the last of the maid's footfalls---and thoughts---finally vanished. She looked up at her desk. There it was, taunting her. It was just sitting there, threatening to end her or inviting to end the pain. How weird it must be, being taunted by something covered with breakable plastic.

She stood up, not a breath later, unknowing what she will do next. She slowly took her steady steps toward her desk and picked up the threatening blade on the top right corner of her desk. She turned it around with her fingers and felt its freezing touch.

Elize positioned it as if she was ready to stab something; Her four fingers grasped the back of the cutter and her thumb was ready to push the blade out of its sheath. She lifted it a few inches upward and thrust it down. Down into her small waterproof bag.

She could never do it, and she knew it. She wasn't ready and she will never be. But who knows, she always says, maybe that day will come. For now, she keeps it with her all the time, ready for that time when crying doesn't cut it anymore.


“M...miss,” Elize heard the door click open. She clicked her tongue, reminding herself to lock the door next time. “Y...your father a...asked for you...” It's what's-her-name again. From the corner of her eye, Elize saw her face. She looked scared, like more scared than when she was here a little while ago.

Elize sighed. She strapped on her small yellow backpack and made her way to the door.

“What,” Elize said, as she passed by the maid, “he's actually going to see me now? No letter? No present?”

“Yes,” the scared girl bowed her head, as it was custom to bow to your master/mistress.

“Tsk, this is a first,” she mumbled. As much as she'd love to cause more chaos in this house, she just couldn't handle everyone's thoughts anymore. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, this will all end if I just talk to him.

Slowly and stubbornly, she walked through the halls of her family's mansion. The sight of it all was depressing. It had low lighting, with only a few wall lights to brighten up the gloom. Other than that, the walls were bare and empty, the result of her rampage two years ago when her mother left her and her father was no where to be found. If she didn't have the real ones, why be left with the ones with a plastered smile on their face?

The blood red carpet muffled the sounds of her dragging feet. All around her were doors that opened to the library, a couple of bathrooms, a balcony, her personal study and the music room. The end of the corridor opened up to a staircase that faced another set of stairs that led to the east wing of the mansion. The stairs would meet a landing and form a grand staircase that led to the first floor.

Elize paused at the landing and looked up at the huge portrait hanging on the wall. It was a picture of a “happy” family; A mother, a father, and a single child sitting in the middle of her parents on a throne.

The child held a little doll given to her by her smiling father that stood by her left shoulder. The doll looked so much like her. It had dark black hair that was tied into a bun. She was wearing a beautiful innocent white dress, same as the little girl. And both of them was wearing an amazingly sincere smile on their face. Elize's upper lip twitched and she made a low growling sound.

“Mistress, please don't...” Elize whipped her head towards the sound of that forgettable maid. “Your father's waiting for you,” she whispered, bowing her head to avoid Elize's death glare.

Elize narrowed her eyes. Soon, she thought. “Fine,” she started going up the east wing staircase, “but that thing will go up in flames. I swear it.”

She stomped her way to her father's study, which was the second door of the right wall.

“Not there, miss,” Elize paused. So I wasn't really going to see him in person, am I? “Your father is out of town. He'll be speaking to you in the computer room next door.”

“I should've known,” Elize mumbled.

The maid ushered her inside the other room adjacent to her father's study.

“Ah, finally,” a not-so-deep voice boomed through Elize's ears as she entered the room. It sounded mechanical and really choppy, as if the voice was coming from a cellphone with no signal. No, not a cellphone, as she soon figured out. It was a radio, like the one you see in old films.

“Do you expect me to say 'hello Charlie'?” Elize scowled.

“Then I'd have to say 'good morning angel', but then there'd have to be an angel in the room.”

“Thanks, dad,” she replied, spitting the word as if it were the worst insult you could ever get. She slumped on the long white leather couch that faced the small radio. She curled her legs up, smiling at the fact that she knew her father hated getting footprints on it.

“Back to the point,” her father continued, “do you have your phone?”

“Yup. Get on with it, you probably don't have the time anyway.”

“You know you're father well, Elize. Fine, I won't beat around the bush. You, young lady have spent too much of your time being lazy and wasting my money.” Elize rolled her eyes, taking advantage of the fact that her father wouldn't see. “Because of this, I had to fire the best professor money could buy!” Elize giggled, which angered her father even more, “Giggle all you want, Elize, cause tomorrow you'll be starting high school in Rosengaurde. For further information, check your phone. I've sent everything you need to know there.” Without even a word of good bye, the radio went off with a ping and he was gone.

Elize had her mouth wide open. What was that? Did he just say 'start high school'? And did he just hang up on her?

“THAT JEEEEEEEEEERK!!!!” Elize literally flipped the coffee table that stood right in front of the couch. If she could've, she'd flip the desk where the radio sat, but then the hanging television set she loved so much was in the way. No way was she ready to get rid of that.

Elize panted, staring coldly at the silver radio. She couldn't believe what she just heard. Go to a school? A private school? With stuck up weirdos running around the halls? In Rosengaurde? He's got to be kidding! All her life Elize had stayed at home with “the best professors money could buy”. How was she supposed to live, much less survive, in Rosengaurde High, where the richest, stuck-upiest kids were supposed to be?

“M...miss?”

“WHAT?!” Elize screamed at the tiny voice, unhappy to be snapped out of her reverie.

“Your father...”

“HE'S NOT MY FATHER!” Elize stomped her way out of the room, brushing harshly against the maid, “AND WHERE IS MY SOUP?!”

The thing about me is that I take great pride in everything I do. May it be writing, sports, acting, drawing, making videos, hell, I take pride in reading! (Never thought anyone could do that, did ya?) Now, I guess that could be my fatal flaw. When I work hard on something, and I know I'm good at it, I sort of expect a compliment. Take acting, for example. You all probably know that story, so I won't dare go back to it.

My pride in my acting led me to give up. My pride in acting led me to get angry at them.

Now here comes the main thing: I have never been so hurt in my entire summer. I know in my heart that I am in no way a strategist. I do not know how to make a good strategy. I'm not denying it. And yet, I masochistically agreed to play a strategy game. As I predicted, I got creamed every single freaking time. You know how hard that is for people like me? Add that to numerous insults and voila: a depression like no other.

I remember now why I never played that game like how my siblings play it over and over to no end. They're great strategists, you see. All of them, and I mean all, have conquered all the strategy games they throw themselves at. Me? I sit here trying to maintain a white aspiration bar for virtual me in The Sims 2. They're there on their computer winning random wars against Egyptians, Greeks, Brits, Americans and other countries and rubbing their wins on my face.

As geeky as it may sound, I want to actually try and win those strategy games. It actually proves that you're, in way, smart. And, as much as I want to give up, I just can't. Won't that make me look like a quitter to myself and my siblings? I don't want to be that weak link. It hurts both me and my pride.

Oh, and speaking of pride, typing this down is hurting it.

Umm... hey. Hi.

You'll never guess what just happened. I was just about to send the third part of Alone to my desktop from my eepc. And guess what? IT WASN'T THERE. And I finished that like weeks ago. What's with that?? 

*Sigh* As much as it frustrates me, I have to rewrite the whole part three. Sorry, but I think it's gonna take a loooong time for me to upload. 

The Evil Genius. Definitely

I forgot all about this. I wrote this when I read a blog post that was so terribly sad that it made me tear up. The thing is, it was so terribly full of hope that it made me remember why I like this guy so much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I Hate Goodbyes.

The harsh cold air combed through her silk blonde hair. Everything was still, except for her soft voice that I allowed not to penetrate through my ears. She was apologizing, explaining something that clearly was still a mystery. And all I could do was stare. Stare and feel my throat dry and hold back my tears. What was happening? Why do I feel like she's slipping away from me?

She took my hand and kissed it. My skin tingled. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I did not want to let go, but I knew I had to. I asked for one last hug ---- just one last. The last time I could hold her in my arms. Feel her love that had already drained away. Listen to the music of her beating heart.

I wanted her to stay. I wanted to be there for her. Making her stay, though, would give her more pain. And so, I let one last thing go. Something that I know would always be with her, no matter where she may go.

"I love you." And that was it. It was the end.

Hate is such a strong word, but dislike doesn't cut it.

I hate this generation. I truly hate it.

Who would have known that the last 90's kids would turn out to be (sorry for the term) attention w*****, clowns, and disrespectful children who apparently do not know their place? When did misspelling words become so "cool", like "Liek". When did "G" get kicked out of O and M's group? (personally, saying OMG is probably not that great, but "Oh Em" is nothing of an improvement). When did 3rd graders start cursing and calling each other girl dogs (the direct translation)? When did six year old kids stop wanting to be Disney Princesses and start wanting to be sexy? When did teenagers start thinking that it's cool to drink alcohol, smoke and take drugs? When did people start crushing the spirits of those who want to go against them      oh wait, that started years before our time.

I hate this generation        my generation.

Actually, scratch that. I hate the generation before ours. Who let these kids go wild and free with all the things shown on T.V. and the Internet? Who's responsibility was it to guide and teach these corrupted minds? And I'm not only asking this to the parents. I'm wondering why the media probably hasn't taken to full account on how many 10 year olds have T.V.s in their bed room. I'm wondering why social networking sites have done the same thing. I'm also wondering why kids nowadays are choosing to grow up.

Does anyone remember that kid from Peter Pan? He made me believe that I don't have to grow up, and nobody can make me. Eventually, he did himself, yet that didn't stop me from believing. He merely tweaked it a little. After seeing him grow up, I figured that I didn't have to grow up now. Sooner or later I am going to have to, but that day's not today. Not when I'm 15 and still living my childhood.

I don't think it's called immaturity if that's what you think I'm going for. No, what I'm going for is that, to put it simply, grown up business is for grown ups, and kids can grow with responsibility. Love, money, sex, marriage? Grown up business. Now, drugs, smoking and alcohol? No one's business. It should be no one's care and worth no one's frustration.

If I had any sense, I'd feel sorry for the kid who's undoubtedly ruining his or her childhood by growing up. Sure, it's not bad to grow up, but everyone has their time and it's not during your childhood years. It's not when you want to grow up. I don't even think it has an age requirement. I believe that it's when you're mentally and emotionally ready to take on the challenge of living on your own. It's when you can fully depend on nobody but yourself.

So love, money, sex and marriage? Deal with it when you're ready, not when you believe that it provides you with happiness. Those things can wait. Your childhood? Not so much. It's an amazing once in a lifetime chance. Don't waste it. Live it to the fullest.  
 

It's difficult to see such sadness. No, there were no tears, just pain-stricken eyes. Much more to see the truth of such pain and have nothing to do about it.

Last Friday, we had a trip to Zoobic. A zoo in, well, Subic. Don't get me wrong, it was amazing and beautiful there. We were given a chance to feed crocodiles with chickens, tigers with chickens, and camels with grass. Zoobic was a huge place full of animals like albino buffaloes, deer, albino pythons, and, of course, tigers. There was a white one as well.

But the most amazing part of the trip was the picnic lunch. A little farther away from Zoobic is this small land of trees, a sort of mini-forest, to be exact. There's a small clearing just in front of the mini-forest where bahay kubos (sp) stood. That's where we ate. Well, technically, they're not "bahay kubos" since they were just tables and benches made to look like one.

We ate, we drank, we laughed. That's how a picnic is supposed to be.

I was staring into space when vendors came and went near us to sell some things that I try to believe were handmade. Dozens of bracelets and necklaces decorated the box they held. They were persuading us to buy them. Obviously, we weren't convinced. We shook our heads and said our politest no and they left. That was what we did for the past minutes, until that one vendor caught my attention.

She wasn't out of the ordinary physically. She was very much like the rest; mid-30s, looking haggard, and pleading. My classmate was eating sushi that time. She had offered some to my other classmates... Not any to the poor looking woman. With her eyes, the woman followed the food go into the mouth of my classmate. I stared at her.

It was really painful to watch. I didn't know what to do. Being the shy person I am, I forgot to offer any of my own food.

I left with a sigh. Into the bus I go. Remembering those eyes, I had to go back. And so I did, asking my partner to buy something from the vendor. Both of us did; I bought a turtle necklace and she bought a flower bracelet.

After that, we wandered through the clearing and came across a strange path leading inside the forest. That's what I call a little sort of adventure.

I coaxed my partner to join me in taking a walk inside. We were just a few meters inside the forest when she chickened out. Annoying, really. Very annoying. I want that sense of adventure and when it's almost in my grasp, she had to ruin the fun. Oh well. If I can "cleverly" persuade my family to take me there again, I'll definitely not let them ruin that fun.